Chapter 7: A New Beginning
The void was interesting.
But being locked in here for Merlin knows how many hours was really annoying.
It was just an endless expanse of greyish white nothingness. No sound except for his own voice.
From the movies and the rare Sunday trip to the church, Harry had expected closure at least.
He imagined that either his parents or someone else would show up. Probably buck him up or provide a game plan.
Sadly, there was nothing. An endless sea of silence & nothingness played out before him.
The afterlife was woefully boring and disappointing.
The only thing left to do here was sit & reminisce about the life before.
That was a can of worms he had never expected to open so soon. Don't people usually wait for their 80s or something to reach this stage?
With neither Ron to distract with the latest "it" thing or Hermione with a random fact, all he had to do was contemplate.
And so, he did just that. Not like he had anything else to do.
He remembered the Dursleys and their relentless cruelty. Their hatred for all things Harry Potter. So much for "family values" Harry venomously spats out.
An ember of pride glowed in his chest regardless. They had tried to break him, yet he persevered.
No amount of hunger, beatings, or isolation had broken his magic. He triumphed and reached Hogwarts.
His mind drifted to Voldemort, and he shivered. Although Harry was a lion's cub through and through, he still feared him. Voldemort was an overwhelming force of nature that cared naught for anything.
He came. He saw. And He took.
Bravery had its merits, but some of his actions had bordered on suicidal stupidity. He begrudgingly conceded that some of them could've been better handled.
The foray into the chamber could've been better planned. If he had access to his cloak, the basilisk would've had a lot harder finding him.
The flaws went on endlessly.
Like a dam bursting open, his memories piled on him. Each vision was an unrelenting, harsh judgment of his actions. All of it boiled down to one thing, power.
He had always wanted it. What right man in his mind never wanted it?
He made Dursley's heel by blowing up that lard tub Marge right off Privet Drive. Those fools had only gotten a mere glimpse of what he was capable of. A slithering part of his mind whispered that he should've done worse.
He couldn't agree more. Dursley's had been allowed to tread on him too much for too long.
Simpering muggle fools.
If only I was powerful enough.
He thought of the Malfoys, Crabbes, Goyles, and more- all will pay.
No canary raised a dissenting voice here. He should do this more often.
As the hours passed, the rage inside of him started to abate. It was no use crying over spilt milk.
Harry' thoughts drifted to something else. In the void, he had nothing to distract him.
The storm clouds rolled in.
He remembered Ron's anguished screams as Hermione lay in a pool of blood.
He remembered his own horror as Ron slipped by, his fingers merely grazing his outstretched hand. The vortex had been merciless.
He remembered Dumbledore combatting legions single-handedly till he lost sight of him in the massive plume of a mushroom cloud.
Tears stung in his eyes as he aggressively tried to wipe them out.
If only I had been more….
The exhaustion overtook him, and all was dark once again.
THUD
The impact of a thick paper jolted Harry awake. He glared as the bike boy snickered and cycled past him.
His anger cooled as he took stock of his surroundings. Old buildings surrounded him with an even older infrastructure than he could remember. It had taken him a while to fully come to terms with his surroundings.
The first day he had been here, Harry imagined all this had been a cruel hallucination created by his mind to prevent it from shattering. He had heard whispers of such a phenomenon often when admitted with Madam Pomfrey.
He stretched and took a few deep breaths to reorient himself. He picked up the dropped pile of papers near him and began to read.
July 1941,
HITLER BOMBS LONDON. CHURCHILL REFUSES ANY ATTEMPTS AT SETTLEMENT.
As bizarre as it seems, he truly was back in time. Not by a few hours, but by entire decades.
And he was caught right up in the middle of another raging war. Not just any war but THE WAR.
Oh joy.
The first day he had been here, he heard the alarms blare but had no idea what was happening. People were screaming and running around in all directions.
A kind stranger had forcibly grabbed him and taken him to an underground basement where several dozen people were. All of them trembled in the silence, like lambs waiting for slaughter.
Then it hit. Loud explosions thundered all over the outside world.
Women cried and cuddled the children. Men jeered and mocked Hitler's aim, drawing several sexual connections between his manhood and inaccurate "explosions".
When the dust settled, the stranger threw him a loaf of bread and ordered him to leave.
He kept muttering about too many mouths to feed and parents dying rather than taking care of children.
Harry didn't need to be told twice. The bombing run was more than enough to reinforce the need for him to reach his people.
Between constantly having to avoid the muggles' raised eyebrows at his tattered robes & explaining to the bartender why he didn't have his wand- Harry couldn't decide which was most embarrassing.
The only refuge he had found till now was in the library. He never knew the city had a public library. More strangely, Hermione had never mentioned it.
It of course had nothing on the grandeur of the one at Hogwarts, but this will do for now.
For whatever its worth, it was large enough to permanently get lost in.
Thankfully, his newfound survival instinct had known what to do.
At his current state, he was a speck of dirt in a hurricane. He was powerless against the encroaching future.
A flash of a bright mushroom cloud went off appeared.
I am not leaving without her!
Harry tensed but pushed down the feeling. Work. That was the only solution to these visions.
Knowledge is power.
Harry nodded to himself in agreement. He needed to move fast and get back into Hogwarts.
From power he will have the means to be victorious. From victory he will have freedom.
He needed a new identity. Claiming to be a Potter in this timeline could be disastrous. He had once seen Dudley play a video game where the hero upsets the past too much, leading to disastrous consequences.
It was called butterfly something, I think. Harry mused.
He had posed as an aspiring journalist to the many keepers present in the library & requested access to the newspaper archive. This coupled with recent history books, and he had his hands fulfilled.
Harry could explain away his poor magic due to lack of a proper work ethic.
He couldn't explain why he was clueless about something that happened a year ago.
Many of the custodian staff had raised eyebrows at the small young boy burrowing through newspapers and history books with such gusto.
Its crazy how many new things a person could learn when they had literally nothing else to do.
Apparently, the magical Britain had a rude awakening about muggles long before they attacked Hogwarts. Harry read,
"Opposition Blames Minister Black for Negligence in Muggle Great War
Recent Tragedy Highlights Consequences of Severed Ties Between Magical and Muggle Worlds
December 1, 1918
In a blistering condemnation, opposition leaders have unleashed scathing criticism against Minister Black's handling of the Muggle Great War, as the magical community reels from the aftermath of a devastating explosion that claimed lives and left a teenager injured. The opposition's claims of Minister Black's misguided policies have gained newfound traction in light of the recent tragedy, exposing the consequences of severed ties between the magical and muggle worlds.
Since assuming office, Minister Black had implemented a draconian decree that strictly forbade any contact with the muggle world, leading to the dissolution of espionage efforts and surveillance mechanisms. Under his administration, Aurors were "encouraged" to enforce a blanket ban on muggle interaction, subjecting those who defied this prohibition to a slew of baseless charges.
However, opposition member Henri Potter, long a vocal critic of the Minister's policies, openly condemned him in a recent parliamentary session. Potter decried the Minister's myopic approach, accusing him of plunging magical Britain into a state of ignorance regarding the fast-paced developments unfolding in the muggle world. Drawing attention to the industrial age and its subsequent surge in birth rates, Potter warned that the muggle world was now on a trajectory to become not only a formidable rival but potentially an existential threat within the next half-century.
Parliamentarian Greengrass echoed similar concerns.
What once prompted jeers and heckling from parliamentary colleagues now hung in the air with an eerie silence. Reports of a devastating explosion, caused by a muggle device ominously dubbed a "Mortar," tore through the protective wards of a beast field research unit. The resultant blast claimed the lives of five individuals and left one teenager gravely injured.
As the aftermath of this calamity unfolds, the opposition's warnings now ring with chilling prescience. The tragic incident serves as a stark reminder of the perilous consequences of isolationism and the dangers of remaining blind to the ever-evolving muggle world. The walls that Minister Black erected between the magical and muggle realms, once thought to be safeguards, now stand exposed as barriers that hindered vital knowledge and critical collaboration.
The debate ignited by Henri Potter's impassioned speech now takes on renewed significance, as questions mount regarding Minister Black's ability to lead and protect the magical community in an era marked by shifting tides of progress. The casualties suffered in this recent explosion demand answers, accountability, and a reassessment of the policies that have left magical Britain woefully unprepared for the developments that have propelled the muggle world forward.
As the mourning begins for those lost in the blast, the magical community must now confront the harsh reality that a war, not fought with wands but driven by progress and invention, looms on the horizon. The muggles no longer fight with sword & shields as they did for since recorded history. Will Minister Black heed the growing clamor for change, or will he persist in his isolationist stance, leaving magical Britain vulnerable to the encroaching shadows of an ever-advancing muggle world?
Worse, what will happen should the muggle world, armed with its newfound might, set its gaze on us?
Only time will reveal the path the nation shall tread."
Harry snorted. If a mortar round and bullets frightened them so much, they should see what he witnessed first-hand.
The rest of the current affairs was riddled by news of Grindelwald's mobilization with dark wizards and open assault. Similar to what he had read about Voldemort, Grindelwald seemed to be winning for now.
A host of small European countries had already fallen to him. He had now set his on Russia.
As unfortunate as that was, it suited his plans perfectly. In times of war, most of the state apparatus would be focused on the war. Fact checking about a 14-year-old kid would not be entertained.
Harry closed his eyes and began to rehearse the story from a mental draft.
Name: Harry Petrov
The name's choice was biased. Harry wanted his initials to remain the same. It was the least he could do to honor his past dead self.
Aside from the war, he settled on Russian for two reasons mainly. First, the country was bloody enormous. Large enough for entire groups of people to not know each other.
Plus, the massive forests over there had provided cover for many magical beasts.
This in turn invited poachers. Entire poacher clans lived in the darks of the forest. Hunting beasts and in turn being hunted by aurors, rangers, & beasts themselves.
If anyone questioned him about scars or his oddities, blaming trauma on such an upbringing would be perfect.
Secondly, Petrov was a common enough surname in Russia at least. Not prominent enough to rouse suspicion among actual Petrovs.
Besides, there were many purebloods in there. Judging by the minister names Harry saw in the newspaper, he might need such an identity cover.
Though he decided to label himself as a half blood. His mother would be an Englishwoman & father would be Russian.
Harry sent a silent prayer of apology to his parents in the afterlife.
All great lies must have convenient half-truths buried somewhere.
The thought entered his brain. Harry nodded to himself in agreement.
The rest he focused on being homeschooled. He didn't know enough about other magical schools to draft a plausible tale.
Besides, that would also explain his poverty. That is of course if the poor robes, dirty appearance, and small stature didn't already give it away.
Harry smiled and stretched widely. He was making progress now.
June 3rd, 1941
He lay on a park bench looking like the perfect picture of destitution.
He had to get away from the library. His head hurt. The barkeep had an eye for destitutes and had not been pushing on the bills.
For now, at least. But Harry didn't want to intrude too much on his hospitality. Besides, its not like he was giving him his best.
Harry had yet to drink a decent cup of tea, ever since he went back to the past. The headache was becoming problematic.
His identity efforts had been somewhat successful. The barkeep had merely nodded at his name and explanation. The library staff accepted it without comment.
In his haste to find safety, Harry never realized that his wand and money didn't travel back in time with him.
He had no friends or allies here. Harry briefly entertained the though of tracking down Dumbledore but had no idea where the former headmaster might be in such a timeline.
No other person had a life span long enough to fit in his life's timescale.
Sadly, he wasn't the chosen one in this timeline so he simply couldn't expect awe struck fans throwing themselves at him and fulfilling his whims.
An image of Lockhart flashed in his mind, but he stomped down heavily on the nausea.
Now was not the time for such distractions. He needed solutions and he needed them fast.
Above all, he needed a wand. Harry felt like a naked babe without it.
He was currently standing outside of Ollivanders. The sun shone brightly above him.
Happily, enough, this was another element that had travelled from his past life. The old man had been kind enough to him when he first met.
Unfortunately, this won't make what he was about to do any simpler.
Tracing the shop's exterior, he found the service entrance. It looked safe enough.
Earlier in the day during peak shopping hours, he had pretended to browse for wands. Dashing towards the back when Ollivander's attention was elsewhere, he had physically broken the lock.
He prayed that the whimsical old man hadn't had the chance to repair it.
He palmed the nob and rotated; it didn't click. Harry felt leprechauns dancing in his soul as he prepared to open the door.
"I won't do that if I were you."
Harry froze.
He felt a judgy stare at his neck as he slowly turned around, bracing himself to an imminent barrage of curses.
He turned around and made to bolt.
"Don't take yer hand off the ladle, laddy" The man cautioned.
Harry stiffened once again.
"Atta boy! The old man prolly has a dozen magic wards bolted to the place. We don't any alarms rosing all the ol' coppers now would we?"
Harry didn't respond. His heart pounded like a runaway stallion. His anxiety merely made him puke.
For the second time in his life, Harry felt the weight of his mediocrity.
The man gently walked up to him and pointed his wand at Harry's gripping hand.
A small whisp of smoke emerged, danced around his hand, and then vanished.
"There there kiddo. Looksy? It's all clear now."
Harry didn't respond.
The man quirked a funny eyebrow at Harry.
"That's not ye actual knob boyo, you can let it go y'know?"
Blushing furiously, Harry immediately let go and started at the man.
"Who are you?!" Harry furiously whispered.
The man chuckled.
"What? No thank you or I owe you everything Mr. Rupert from having soul bum rushed by dementors for a whole year straight?"
Harry didn't respond.
"Kids these days…" The now revealed Rupert muttered.
Harry was about to lauch a wise ass retort about being 14 when his stomach growled.
The man smirked looked like God's smuggest leprechaun.
"Say, kid, why don't you and I go hang at the tavern over there? I'm pretty sure the wenches have now started cooking something new, eh? My treat!"
Having eaten stale loaf and empty stew for two days, Harry didn't have the heart to refuse.
Voldemort himself could've offered to take Harry out to dinner at that moment and he would have accepted.
"The name's Rupert by the way" The man stated.
Lovely
"I must say kid. You neither look nor sound like any Petrov I have ever met."
Harry was too busy gorging himself on mince pie to muster a response.
"My mwo wa Ing" Harry mumbled.
"Maybe try again when yer mouth's not full of meat? You are not really at that level yet" The man cheekily said.
Harry shot another annoyed glare at him and swallowed.
"My mother was English. Dad was too busy out there piling up beast bodies for a living."
"Uh huh"
"She taught me most of everything. Language included."
"That would explain your lack of cykas & blyats"
"There's a lot more to that than those two words alone." Harry muttered.
The man nodded as if something profound was revealed to him.
"So let me get this straight. Grindelwald's folks wanted more beasty limbs and dad got caught in the middle trying to supply overtime. Mumsy dear left alone decided to choke it, rather than tough it?"
Harry stared blankly at him.
"Damn kid, I somewhat believe what you told me. I have seen enough scumbags out there to know tragedy."
He took a swing of his whiskey and continued
"That and the fact you look like a kid despite allegedly looking 14. Forests' no place for a wee lad like you is it?"
Harry nodded. "It was tough. The only reason I made it out alive was mother's wedding ring had a port key to near diagon alley."
"Should've looted the whole camp. That's what I'd do. But judging by your utter shite thieving till now, I'd say you prolly forgot all about that."
Harry could only blush in embarrassment.
"And above all goin' to rob that old Olly man. Should've just begged him for a wand outright. He prolly would've given one to yer for free."
"He would?"
"Well, I don't know. I didn't marry the guy. If he didn't like begging should've given him something he wanted." Rupert said.
"Like what" Harry asked.
"I don't know kid. You are a twink through and through. What do yer think?"
Harry flustered but Rupert was relentless.
"Hell, you're the twinkiest twink in all twink kind. The original twink from which all subsequent twink should be moulded and built."
An intrusive thought in Harry's brain wanted to throw boiling water at the man but he remained calm but only annoyedly stared at the man.
A brief moment of silence passed between them.
"Speaking of all things thievery, lad"
Rupert straightened his spine and took a chug and continued,
"I 'ear you've been trying your 'and at a bit of thievin', eh? Well, I must say, you've got the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, mate."
Harry's face flushed in embarrassment.
"I-I needed a wand" Harry replied lamely.
Rupert raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, really? Well, you've got the art of noticin' things all right. You were as visible as a roarin' Horntail struttin' down the street. Every Tom, Dick, and 'Arry knew you were up to somethin'."
Rupert stirred his drink and took another swing,
"And don't even get me started on those clothes of yours. You've been wearin' the same outfit day in and day out. No wonder folks could spot you from a mile away."
"I don't have two galleons to rub together" Harry retorted.
"Uh huh. The entire neighborinoos knew you were the stinky lad from the library who rose from his newspaper grave & was ogling Olli man like the rejected lad at the dance."
Harry had no defense of that.
Rupert sighed and continued,
"Oh, 'Arry, you've got a lot to learn. Blendin' in is the name of the game. You gotta become one with the environment. Don't make yourself known, be like a ghost. Swift and silent."
"How?"
"Research, my boy. Know your mark, know your surroundings. That's the key. You gotta plan it all out. Every nook, every cranny. And when you make your move, you better be fast and deft, like a fox in the night." Rupert said.
I should have prepared more. I should have been stronger.
Harry ignored his mind's own tricks on him and focused on Rupert alone. Neither Snape nor McGonagall had ever commanded such attention from him.
Rupert had something he always wished he had when was at Dursleys.
The art of taking everything and vanishing.
"See the man over there?" Rupert gestured to a walrus of a man drinking merrily.
"Yeah"
"That's a proper mark. The man's so down the shitter, he dunno up from down."
"He mistook you for a waitress and tried to make out with you." Harry drily replied.
Rupert chuckled and pulled out a wand from his sleeve.
"And he let me get close enough to him to take this." Rupert replied.
Harry blinked.
Rupert flipped the wand and offered the handle to Harry.
"H-how?"
Rupert merrily stated, "Magic my dear boy. Magic."
Harry took the wand absently and stared it. This was something else.
He knew from observing Fred and George at the Burrow that nicking wands was tough. They seem to have a mind of their own and rolled away from poaching fingers.
At times they even let off sparks to warn of the intrusion.
Rupert didn't seem to be bothered by such things. Harry blinked again.
He started at Rupert seriously and said,
"Teach me."
Rupert merely grinned in response.